Sorry for the Brittany intro. I just realized it's one in the morning, and until my meds make me sleepy enough to have a lay down, I'm trapped here, playing at thinking. Yesterday got away from me. I got engrossed in a book, after having an asthma attack due to a worm-farm display at the library. Makes perfect sense, right? Someone made a kid-sized, walk-through tunnel of "good dirt", full of gross things under black lights, with diagrams about what worms need to eat and how fast they can turn it into poop, blah, blah, blah, and the other side was the "bad dirt", containing only grass and stones. Because having 'grass' and stoners would be detrimental to the chirruns. Better to throw some moldy burlap and formaldehyde-soaked wood into a confined, airless government building so children and their parents (one of whom at this point is sucking the end of the rescue inhaler and just wants to go home, for f*cksakes, and would you hurry up and choose your books already, we've been at this for forty minutes) can come down with scratchy throats, headaches, and, as the final kick in the head, hives. I stupidly touched the burlap curtain on the good dirt. Hey, they had a black light in there. I was a smallish child in the 70's... black lights are like crack to me. Point me to the velvet Elvis and I'm happy. The toy eyeball in the "good dirt" area was a bit disconcerting, but helpful, I suppose. All those publicly educated children will at least know how many worms it takes to eat and poop a dead body... and they say education is dead. *snort*
Later today this resumes being a knitting/complaining about knitting/sewing/eating blog. Do come back. I'll try to be sober. 'Nite, knittas and crafty ho's everywhere.